Demons
by LunaEquus
Summary: When Gemma uses the magic to save Kartik's life, he starts acting strangely. What are these demons that plague them?
1. Chapter 1

I woke up with the idea for this story and I just HAD to write it. Just for a bit of background info, Gemma is home from school but hasn't made her debut yet, and she and Kartik are at a point in their "relationship" where they kiss a lot and are okay with it. Enjoy!

"What do you think you'll do after you make your debut?" Kartik asks, twirling a fountain pen between his fingers. "Is it just parties and dances from then on for you?"

"Mmm," I lean against the pillows on his bed. "Perhaps I won't even make my debut. Perhaps I'll trip and knock over the Queen as I attempt to curtsy. They will throw me out onto the streets, a disgrace to England, and I shall be free to do as I please."

Kartik's lips curve into a hint of a smile. "You will do no such thing," he says, settling himself near to me. His nearness brings an excited flush to my face, but as there is no place else to sit in his small room behind the tapestry, I must swallow my nerves and bear it. After all, I was the one to instigate this meeting.

I sigh. "I cannot picture myself in such a future. I'd _like _to picture myself that way, but I can't."

"Neither can I. There is no adventure to be found in a ballroom, unless…" He leans in close to me and his face develops a look similar to the one Felicity gets when she dangles a secret before me. "Did you see the way Miss Doyle rejected the Honorable Simon Middleton's invitation to dance?"

"How scandalous!" I exclaim.

"Indeed. We shall talk about it for weeks." He smiles devilishly and my heart flutters. I have found myself caring for Kartik very much lately. This is of course helped along by…

He leans over and kisses me chastely. A simple kiss, one not without promise of more, but simple in its own right. He touches one of my loose curls gently as he pulls away. "Tell me, Gemma," he says as if we had not just kissed. "Provided you do make a disgrace out of yourself, what will you do then with your freedom?"

I am still reeling from the heat of his lips. "I…I want to see the world. Travel to the Orient. Go on safari in the Serengeti. See the Festival of Lights in India again." I look at the fabric of my skirt twisted between my fingers. "Is that silly of me? To wish for that?"

"Not at all," Kartik says, taking my hand in his. "You know what you must do, don't you?"

I shake my head. "What?"

"Trip and knock the Queen over."

I laugh and wrap my arms loosely over his broad shoulders, bringing his head close and kissing his temple. "You'd accompany me on such a trip, wouldn't you?"

"I'd have a getaway carriage waiting at the gates of Buckingham Palace." He looks up at me and the promise of our earlier kiss fulfills itself. The kiss itself is a sigh of relief, a release of the pent-up tension always between us. When his lips touch mine it is as if I have regained a lost part of myself; I feel whole, at home.

The door to the room flies open with a crash so startling that a scream of surprise escapes me. A suited man steps into view, pointing a pistol at us. _Fowlson. _I am stunned, but Kartik is trained for such unexpectedness. However, he isn't given the chance.

With a roar of fire, the pistol is shot and Kartik is knocked back into my arms with the force of the connecting bullet. Fowlson's smile is as wicked as his scar as he retreats, satisfied with the blood leaking from Kartik's chest.

"Kartik!" I cry, tearing at his shirt to see the wound. There is too much blood. Too much. His brown eyes are wide and fearful. He coughs – more blood. It coats his lips, the same lips I had been kissing just moments before, so that they are slick like wet cherries.

"Gemma," he whispers, coughing. More blood. His hands grasp for mine.

"Kartik, no, please," I whimper, unsure of what I'm pleading for. He is dying, in just seconds, dying. The person that has remained a steady presence in my life for so long is just…dying. In seconds, he'll be gone.

No.

Placing my hands on his chest – _so much blood_ – I summon forth the magic from within me, from the realms. Tears stream from my eyes in steady rivers. _Please work!_ I cannot let him die. I cannot. I want him, need him, here with me.

His wet eyelashes flutter as the magic courses through his veins. His body seizes up, grows rigid with the magic, but not death. In my mind I see us dancing in the stables, kissing in the boathouse at Spence, arguing over fate, laughing over my lack of grace. My heart throbs with emotion, with love, for Kartik. How is it that I have not realized this until now?

Kartik pants heavily when I pull my hands away. He opens his eyes, and for a moment they look different. Darker. But then he gropes for something on his chest and holds it up, a bullet. He stares at it in wonder, and I know that he will be fine.

I realize that I've been holding my breath. I collapse in a fit of sobs, relieved that he is alive.

"Gemma?" he asks softly. "It's alright, Gem."

"No it isn't!"

He makes to hold me but notices the blood on his hands and stops. I hear the tinkling of water, so light and ordinary a sound, as he pours water from a pitcher to scrub at the blood on his skin. The room smells heavily of blood, and it is all I can do not to be sick. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out all the red, but all I see is the barrel of the pistol, staring us down in cold malice.

A few moments later, Kartik is by my side on the floor, scrubbed clean with fresh clothes. He pulls me into a tight embrace, burying his face into my neck. I do the same, aching to smell the familiar smoke and spice, but all I smell is the tangy scent of blood. It is enough to bring a fresh waves of tears.

What if I had lost him?

I grasp at him tightly, unable to bring myself close enough to reassure myself that he is still here.

"Gemma," Kartik murmurs. "You brought me back."

"What?"

"I had one foot on the other side. I saw the realms, Gemma. They're beautiful," he says longingly.

Chills run through my veins. "Are you saying you wish you had died?"

He hesitates just long enough for my fears to be confirmed. "Kartik!" I cry. "Please don't say that!"

He strokes my hair. "I didn't say that, Gemma. I'd rather be here…with you." He gazes at me intensely. "But life is only worth it if I can have you," he whispers.

"Don't say those things," I whimper. Something doesn't seem right about him.

Kartik's hands tighten on my waist. "Gemma, please. Tell me you want to be with me. Tell me I can be with you."

"Kartik, you're scaring me."

His head snaps back and his eyes widen. "I'm sorry," he says mournfully. "It's just that – when I saw the realms – I…I realized that I'd have been without you…" His eyes fill with tears.

My body relaxes a bit. There is nothing wrong with him. He almost died. He's just afraid to be alone.

I cup his face in my hands. "I _do _want to be with you, Kartik."

He smiles and kisses me firmly. His mouth tastes only of blood.

Ooh, eerie.

I don't know how many chapters this will be, but there will be more.

Has to write 2 philosophy papers pronto,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for the reviews so far! Yes, it's creepy hehe. Enjoy!

When I finally manage to disentangle myself from Kartik's lips for the night, it is far past the appropriate time for a lady to walk the London streets alone. Kartik had insisted that he would accompany me home, but I declined under the pretense that we couldn't be seen together. He knows this and understands it well, but still he jumped at the chance.

Truthfully, I wouldn't have cared much if he had brought me home. The magic is a dense cover for anything that wishes to remain unnoticed, however…

Something about Kartik doesn't quite seem right to me. I took the chance to walk alone, for I knew the solitude and cool air would clear my head enough to think…or forget.

Upon returning home, I have Emily draw me a bath. I sink into the hot water, desperate to be cleansed of this day. I scrub until my skin is as raw as a fresh wound, but I still see the blood splattered on the bed sheets. I gargle and rinse my mouth multiple times, but I still taste iron. I still taste him.

Guiltily, I find I don't want to.

Abandoning my near-surgical bathing, I rest my head against the tub, sinking until the water embraces me like a womb. I close my eyes, but relaxation evades me as if I was the plague.

Fowlson found Kartik. The Rakshana have finally ordered their punishment on their traitor, my friend. They think him dead now.

_He is._

My eyes spring open. _No, I saved him._

Have I truly saved him? Before the bullet pierced his flesh, Kartik was...oh, what is he? A friend? Perhaps more? Cynical and loyal, proud and arrogant, playful and wise… He was the rock I've come to grasp onto for dear life.

_Was?_ He _is _still alive…isn't he?

After I brought him back – _did I? _– he became…he wasn't…normal.

I close my eyes and painfully recall earlier this evening.

"_I _do _want to be with you, Kartik," I said softly._

_His eyes glowed in a way I haven't seen before as he kissed me…too forcefully. "I love you, Gemma," he murmured. "You're my everything."_

_I should have been flattered. I should have been blushing and stuttering and smiling. But I wasn't. And I didn't. I just looked away._

"_What is it?" he asked. "Gemma?" He turned my face to him sharply, searching my eyes for God knows what. "Don't you love me too?" The pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear. Where was the playful gleam from just an hour earlier? _

"_I…care for you, Kartik," I said nervously. "Very much so."_

_He face seems to crumple like a scolded child's. "But, you said…"_

"_I am still as unsure of things as I was earlier today, Kartik," I said, referring to the brief conversation concerning my future we shared before Fowlson changed everything._

"_Earlier today…?" he echoed slowly. His eyes clouded with confusion, as if he couldn't remember. The clouds cleared soon after, but the sky was still overcast with the haze I've never seen before in his eyes. "Of course. The Queen…your debut."_

_I nodded, keeping my eyes fixed on him._

_A dreamy smile graced his face. It somehow looked…wrong on him. "And then we can be together." Kartik's eyes met mine. "Forever."_

A presence in the room makes me sit up with a start. Kartik stands next to the dressing screen, watching me in the bath.

"Kartik!" I gasp, trying to cover myself with my hands. _How much has he seen?_

"Don't," he says softly, kneeling by the edge of the bathtub. "You're beautiful."

I freeze as he drifts his fingertips along the surface of the water, closer and closer to me. His hand slides up my thigh; I jerk away from his touch, sloshing water out of the tub.

"Gemma, what's gotten into you?" Kartik asks with wide eyes. He looks at me as if I'm insane, but I don't care. I'm searching, looking for the eerie alteration in his eyes. The dark, haunting look of death I saw earlier.

It isn't there.

Could I just have imagined it?

"Is this tub big enough for two?" he asks with his normally playful eyes. Devilish and naughty, but not demonic. This relief has me unresisting as he undresses and slips into the water with me.

My family is just downstairs. I don't know what has gotten into me.

"So…" Kartik cradles me against his bare chest as we lie side by side, cramped, but comfortable enough. "We've never done _this_ before."

_Done what?_ If he thinks I will give him my virtue, he is sorely mistaken. _Not that this is very virtuous…_

His hand slides lazily up my side, cupping my breast, testing his boundaries. I'm frozen. Is this real? Is he here? Did I bring him back? He's dead, isn't he? _No, I saved him!_

I'm numb to him. I cannot feel his lips upon my breast, the pressure with which he presses himself against me. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to block out the sight of his pink tongue trying so hard to rouse a response from me. What I _can _feel - the drops of water beading on the airborne plains of my figure – makes me shiver uncontrollably.

So cold. I'm freezing. The droplets feel like ice, cold blades cutting into my skin, drawing blood. So much blood. It flows thick and sticky, heating the water. _No, stop! I saved him!_

I open my eyes. See Kartik's black curls upon my white skin, bathed in red. Too much blood – the tub is filled with it. Crimson is splattered all over the porcelain, on the walls. It mars my reflection in the once-shiny brass of the faucet so that all I can see the bloodied bullet hole in Kartik's chest staring at me like a demonic eye. I cry out in terror. _No! I saved him! He's alive!_

"Gem?"

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"I saved you!"

Kartik's hands grasp my shoulders. They're as hot as furnaces. "What's the matter, Gemma?"

Tears stream down my cheeks, burning trails into my skin. "There's too much blood, Kartik," I whisper. "It won't go away."

"Open your eyes," he says gently. "There is no blood."

I blink the tears away and survey the bathtub. He is right. There is no blood.

Am I imagining things? Perhaps there is nothing wrong with him. Perhaps there is something wrong with _me._

I let my head fall forward onto his chest with a sob. The water makes soft lapping sounds against our bodies tangled so inappropriately. I could let myself drift away in my insanity, let the water pull me under to a place where I am just as dead as he is. But he isn't dead! Oh, what is wrong with me?

He strokes my wet hair. "There, there, poppet. There is nothing wrong with you," he whispers, soft and soothing like a lullaby.

I freeze again. _Poppet?_ "What did you just say, Kartik?" I ask as clearly as I can muster.

He tightens his arms around me. "I didn't say anything," he replies. His voice sounds different now than it had before. But it doesn't sound differently than normal. It sounds like him.

"I'm going mad," I whimper. My place in Kartik's slippery embrace feels like a cage.

Kartik kisses the top of my head. "Perhaps I should stay with you tonight?"

"No," I say too quickly. "I mean…I am fine. Nothing a good night's sleep can't help."

"But you are afraid."

_Yes. Of you._

I manage a small smile. "I'm fine."

Oh dear. I hope this was as creepy as intended. I'm pretty sure it will get worse. Which leads me to this... I think this will have to become M rated. Yes, there will be more sexual encounters. This one was going to be more...intense, but I want to keep it T for the moment. It won't be pornographic, mind you, but mature. And I'm not sure how much blood and gore is allowed in T. So...who's against me bumping up the rating?

Dude, since I have my own room at school...

Party at Luna's! Haha! How fun would that be? The whole fanfiction gang hanging out? We can play Pin the Trousers on Kartik, but we'd all lose because no one will want to.

Kartik's birthday is Saturday,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW!!!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the reviews so far! Pretty sure this is still T rated. Read and let me know if it should be M...

The bed sheets feel rougher than usual tonight. Perhaps I am just imagining it after sloughing off the top layer of my skin while bathing, or perhaps they have been starched without my realizing it. Or perhaps I am just this new fragile thing delicate enough to be ripped apart by cotton and lace. Or perhaps I'm just mad.

Yes. That's it.

No, not really.

Kartik left earlier. That is, if he had really been there at all. While I saw him, and touched him, and watched him dress again, there is no indication that he had really ever been there. No other witnesses, no blood smeared upon the tiles…

Why must I keep thinking of blood? I am poisoned by it.

By the light of my oil lamp, I examine the small veins in my wrist. They pulsate in faint hues of blue, and purple. There is no red. _But there was so much red._

Kartik must be back in his room now, though I am not entirely sure it is safe for him to be there. The Rakshana thinks him dead, but what about the owner of the tavern? Surely he must have heard the gunshot, smelled the blood... That is, if it really happened. _It did happen, didn't it?_

It doesn't seem plausible, that Kartik _could have_ died, but yet he walks the earth now. Yes, I knew I used the magic, but it doesn't always work the way it should. There is also the problem of him…

He doesn't seem right. There is something wrong with him, but I don't know what. There are times now when I look in his eyes and feel nothing; and then he touches me, and I feel…nothing. But then…it is as if he is back again, and his hands can light me on fire. That is the way it always was, the way it should forever be. But it isn't. He is dead.

_No! He isn't dead!_ Why must I keep thinking that? I saw the gun, I saw the wound, the blood, the fear in his eyes. But then I brought him back. I saw him smile and kiss me and undress right in front of me. I saw his lips curl around the tip of my breast, I saw his hands disappear beneath the bloodied water to slip between my legs… But I didn't feel it. _And there was no blood!_

_There was no Kartik either. Kartik doesn't do things like that. Kartik makes silly jokes and challenges everything I say, and sometimes, when I'm lucky, I get a kiss.  
_

But… I saw him. Was I seeing things? Is it possible to construct such an elaborate fantasy? Should I be taken away to Bethlem? Kartik is dead and I've somehow conjured up a shade of him, one that treats me the way I've always secretly wished to be treated. But now that I have this empty shell, what I thought I wanted, I realize that I never wanted that. I want Kartik, but _my _Kartik.

But my Kartik _was _there. I felt him when he told me there was no blood. His lips traced fire on my shoulders, burning away the frigid ice that broke and bled me.

Broke and bled me…

Where have I heard that before?

_I am not going mad!_ Kartik is alive. I saved him myself.

I turn off my lamp and curl up under the rough sheets. They feel like burlap against me. I close my eyes and wish for silk…

I remember the day we laid together, his back pressed up in between my legs so that I felt the heat of him in my most delicate area. We had been talking, lolling idly around, searching for comfort on his bed. He had said something to make me smile…oh, what was it?

"_Oh, I could never out-sew the great Gemma Doyle," Kartik said, laughing. "Her embroidery is impeccable. I'd never have thought to give a rabbit three ears!"_

"_I was distracted," I said, grinning. "You should have seen the look on Grandmama's face!"_

"_I'll bet she was so proud of her granddaughter. No doubt you'll charm the most eligible bachelors with your talents." _

_I threw my arms around him and embraced him from behind, not-so-subtly pressing my breasts against his back. "Have I charmed you?" I whispered into his ear. _

_It was clear that for a moment, he was fighting off some inborn desire that was threatening to emerge. Then he threw himself backwards so that I was trapped under the weight of him. "I'm not sure," he said, fighting a smile while closing his eyes. "I'll have to sleep on it."_

_And for a moment he pretended to, all while I grew red in the face, resisting the urge to press myself up against him. _

These feelings are no longer a stranger to me as they once had been at Spence. I have long since grown used to the touch of a man, well, Kartik at least. I know what they mean. They are the prelude to a night spent gasping, writhing, and moaning, tangled up in a lover's arms. Or at least, that is ideal. I've not yet felt the touch of a lover.

Kartik had touched me like that. I saw him do it. But I didn't feel it.

Can I even feel anything?

I feel the roughness of the sheets, but now it doesn't hurt – it feels…good. I want to feel the heat of Kartik's skin pressed up between my legs again. I want to see his hands roam my body, but I want to feel it. Feel the heat, feel the insatiable throbbing between my legs, feel him satisfy the hunger.

Will he ever do that? Can he? He can if he's alive.

I want him here. I want to make sure. I want to see him, kiss him, feel him.

"Kartik…" I whisper, letting my hand slide to find the source of my longing. I think of him the way he was - my stubborn, moody, playful Kartik. My heart throbs with pain, my lower spot, pleasure._Kartik…I think I loved you._

Loved? _Loved?_ Love. I love him. I love Kartik. Now. In the present.

My finger finds the source of it all and presses upon it shyly. "Oh, Kartik," I murmur aloud. "Please…"

What is wrong with me? My hand is not his. I should not be feeling this way by my own hands!

I withdraw my hand despite the aching protest in my loins. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears slip from my lashes. They feel thicker than normal. My hand swipes at my cheeks, smearing the wetness back into my hair. I examine my hand in the dim light stealing in from the edges of the curtains. My fingers look black, stained with ink, or in this darkness – blood.

My fear causes more tears to well – more blood. I choke back a sob._I'm crying blood. _It streams down my cheeks fluidly, a sticky wet mess of red upon my face.

"Why is this happening?" I cry out, staring in horror at my bloodied hands. "What have I done?" The blood glints maniacally in the dark, remind me of the look in Kartik's eyes as he came upon me in the bath. "I did not fire that gun," I whisper to no one. "I saved his life."

The taste of iron and death is strong in my mouth. _No…I rinsed him from my mouth, scrubbed him from my skin. Why is there so much blood?_

I fall helplessly back into the rough pillows and wince as the lace cuts new wounds into my skin. _I'm dying…but why?_

What have I done? I saved his life. How could I not? I don't deserve this!

Death presses upon me as the blood drips into my throat, choking me. I close my eyes and accept it.

_What is wrong with me?_

"There is nothing wrong with _you_, poppet."

My eyes snap open.

Ahh! Scary! Haha!

Is a bad girl because she should be writing for class,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW! Next chapter will most likely be M, so put this on your alerts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Ahm yes, this is rated M now. Not too bad though. Certainly not smut. Enjoy!**

"There is nothing wrong with _you_, poppet."

My eyes snap open. "What?" I cry out.

There is a soft rustling sound by the window. "Gemma?" Kartik's voice is soft and confused. "I didn't mean to startle you." He sits on the edge of my bed.

"Then why did you say what you did?" My voice is nearing hysterics.

He frowns. "I didn't say anything."

Of course he didn't. I'm so insane that I am hearing things. I let my face drop into my hands with a sob.

"Gemma, are you alright?" I think he reaches to touch my shoulder; I can feel it, but it does not rouse the same response in me as it might have before.

"No, I am not alright," I moan.

"What is it?" he asks, kicking his boots off and crawling closer to me on the bed. "Tell me."

And it is because the incredible misery I feel inside me that I tell him instead of keeping it bottled up any longer.

"There's something wrong with you!"

He is taken aback. "Something wrong with me? What do you mean?"

No frowns, no anger, no Kartik. It can't possibly be him.

"You died, Kartik," I whisper. "Why are you still here?"

A sigh escapes his beautiful lips. "Gemma," he murmurs, unbuttoning his shirt. "I am not dead." As the buttons come apart, his sculpted chest comes into view. "You brought me back; you saved me." His shirt is tossed to the floor, where it lies crumpled, like a dead butterfly. He takes my hands and traces them over his skin. "See? No wounds."

Beneath my fingers, Kartik's skin is warm, but not as much as I thought it once was. I cannot shake the feeling from my heart.

"You're not Kartik," I say, pulling my hands away from his smooth skin.

A hurt look crosses his face. I am briefly reminded of the time I insulted him in the stables. "I _am _Kartik, Gem. I love you, you know that." He says it with such earnest that I want so badly to believe him.

I shake my head slightly. He sighs and a devilish look crosses his face. "Do I need to prove it to you? That I love you?" His hands fumble at the waistband of his trousers.

"No!" I cry, reaching forward to stop his hands. He is faster. My hand touches something foreign to me, something so incredibly hot I feel like it has burned me.

Kartik gasps in surprise. "Gemma…" He pushes me onto my back and grabs at the hem of my nightgown. "I knew you'd understand," he murmurs lovingly.

I know his intentions, but I'm struck with the familiarity in his eyes. If anything, I just want Kartik, _my _Kartik, back. "Please don't," I whisper.

He takes my hand and places it on himself again, closing my fingers tightly around him. Then he kisses me. At least, I think he does. "You've dreamt of this, Gemma. You want it."

I do want it. Or I did. How does he know that I've dreamt of him this way?

"Kartik…" I whisper, closing my eyes and bringing myself back to the Gypsy camp, to his tent. His lips trace ghostlike kisses over my body, which quivers in anticipation. I can feel him now. The fire glows nearby, casting our bodies into silhouettes against the canvas of the tent. His fingers caress my cheek, run over my lips, clamp down on my mouth.

I let out a muffled scream as he pushes the length of him inside me. The campfire is doused. I'm broken. Bleeding.

He's broke and bled me.

Broke and bled.

"Kartik, stop," I whimper. He cannot hear me, or does not want to. He cannot possibly hear anything over the guttural moans and gasps he makes as he moves inside of me, splitting me thoroughly in half.

I can feel the slick, slippery feeling of blood pooling between us. My head grows light, faint. I am dying again.

"Kartik, _please stop_," I sob, crying blood once again. I see him through a waterfall of salty red. He is not himself. "You're not Kartik!"

He looks down at me briefly, then closes his eyes once more in ecstasy. Stabbing pains make their way up my body. I dig my fingers into his arms as one last attempt to get his attention. All I succeed in doing is drawing forth more blood. I shall drown in it.

There is nothing wrong with me. I know that now. It is him.

He thrusts (stabs?) into me more rapidly, which the fury of a scorned butcher. I am today's cut of meat, pulverized into a bloody, tender pulp. I cry out in pain as he cries out in the throes of orgasm. He presses his mouth against mine, his saliva tasting of death and blood. I've no more strength to push him away. I am dying.

I feel him pull out of me, releasing the plug that had stopped up all the blood he drew from me. He holds me close, this stranger whom now I am too acquainted with. He smiles at me eerily, with black-rimmed eyes and the look of a harlequin under his sweaty mess of black curls.

"Thank you, _poppet_," he hisses into my ear.

I freeze in his arms, hardly surprised, but terrified all the same.

"Kartik," I whisper to him, touching his cheek. "Kartik darling, I know you're in there somewhere." I'm pleading, hoping I am right.

The peculiar smile remains. "No, poppet. You were right. Kartik _is_dead. But I was right too. You brought _me _back."

"No," I say softly. "Not my Kartik, no. He cannot be dead."

"Oh, but he is, poppet. Pretty poppet. You've served us well, poppety priestess of the Most High." He pinches my breast firmly. "Letting me worship your temple like that, so kind, so kind." My blood chills. "Now we have the magic."

"What?" Nothing makes sense to me anymore. _Kartik cannot be dead!_

"We don't need you anymore."

_He can't be._

"I've broke and bled you." He slips a finger to stroke the slippery blood between my legs. "And it was such fun."

_Kartik…_

"Goodbye, pretty poppet." He pulls a blade from out of nowhere and lets it catch the minimal light. _This is not Kartik! What have I done to deserve this?_

The blade is drawn swiftly across my neck. Blood, _real blood,_ gushes out at once, happy to be relieved of the mess that is my body and mind. My lips struggle to form but one word.

"Why?"

_I am dying, and I cannot feel a thing._

Woah now, there's still one more chapter. SCARY!

It won't be what you think, I'll tell you that.

Sorry about the PoppyKartik! rape. It had to be done.

This IS M-rated, right?

Is very tired,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW! Or I won't update at all. BWAHAHA! _  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the reviews! This chapter is not M rated. Enjoy!_  
_**

_I'm dying and I cannot feel a thing._

_But I can hear something._

It reaches me from faraway, like a ship's horn resounding through deep fog.

"Gemma, Gemma!"

It becomes louder, more urgent, with every repetition of my name.

Right. My name. I should probably answer, shouldn't I?

"Gemma!"

My head lolls to the side as two strong hands grip my upper arms and shake me. I want to answer, but I can't. Not yet. My body isn't ready to allow me to. The rest of my senses come back in waves – first, a sharp pain in my side, then the sickly sweet scent of blood, strong and unrelenting, presses over my nose like a suffocating hand.

It chokes me. I cough.

"Gemma?"

"Oh God," I whisper as I finally recognize the voice. My hand flutters to my throat, where he drew my death with a blade. I am surprised to feel lace and cotton, the high-necked collar of my dress, instead of sticky blood and a gaping wound. There is no pain at my throat, only the throbbing in my side.

Am I alive?

I open my eyes and blink groggily to adjust my eyes to the bright lamp shining near me. Kartik leans over me, concerned, but very much alive. His eyes bear no signs of kohl or strange darkness, only the normal deep brown hues that are soft, searching, and worried. There is also a touch of bloodshot, as if he had been crying.

The rest of the room comes into focus. We are still in the room behind the tapestry, still wearing the same clothes of yesterday, no, today. The heady scent of blood nauseates me as I sit up, my side aches as I try to stay in that position. I clutch his shirt, pull it apart, find only the smooth topography of his chest, marred only by the jagged scar caused by the sharp stick of a wayward schoolgirl.

There is no blood, no bullet hole.

Kartik is surprised. "Are you alright, Gemma?"

"You're alive," I say, shaking my head at how ridiculous I sound. "I thought…what happened?"

If he is not the one bleeding, then who is?

He strokes my hair and bids me to lay back down.

"You need rest," he says quietly.

"No," I protest weakly. "I want to know what happened."

"After you get some sleep."

"But Fowlson…" I trail off, suddenly realizing what must have happened. Kartik avoids my gaze as I size him up. I take in the sight of him, unharmed, looking down like a little boy caught with his hands in the sugar bowl.

"Gemma, he shot you. I…had no choice."

"He shot _me_?" I ask incredulously. My heart thuds loudly in my ears. "But I saw him shoot _you_."

Kartik shakes his head slowly, looking slightly confused and very upset. "You are mistaken. You must have dreamt it. Fowlson threw open the door and fired. You lost consciousness immediately. When he saw that he had missed me…"

"What?" I whisper.

"He had intended to do us both in. I wouldn't allow it. I…" Kartik looks at his hands hatefully. "I'm a murderer, Gem. I killed him."

So the scent of blood…

I lean nervously over the edge of the bed, wincing at the pain in my side. Fowlson lies, nearly unrecognizable in a pool of his own blood. His normally pristine clothing is flowered by red, the result of numerous holes in his body. Garnet puddles dot the wooden floor like spilt wine, though the scent is of a particularly unpleasant bouquet.

I gag, holding back tears as I look at Kartik and try to imagine him in the terrified rage that would have caused him to shoot so many times. He trembles under my gaze like a scared child facing the strap. "I thought he killed you," Kartik whispers, holding back his own waves of tears. "I…I don't know what came over me."

_Nothing._ _Nothing came over you, darling. _

To say I'm relieved is an understatement. My dream was just that, a dream. Though I've woken up to an unpleasant reality, I'm alive. Kartik's alive. Kartik, _my _Kartik. Is alive. Not corrupted, not a Poppy Warrior in disguise.

He is…normal. Perfectly normal. As am I.

"How long have I been…asleep?" I ask, touching my side gingerly.

"Not very long." Kartik bites his lip nervously. "I dressed your wound. I hope you don't mind."

I give him a small smile, wishing he wouldn't walk on eggshells around me. It's already enough of a bad atmosphere without him being so skittish. "You may have saved my life," I say, boldly placing my hand on his.

Finally, he seems to relax, clasping his own hand with mine. "That was the idea."

And we sit for a moment, holding hands and looking away from each other. So much goes unsaid, so much has changed, just by the bullets of one gun and the injured dreams of my tortured head. I think back to it, how real it felt, how heartbroken I was, thinking he was gone.

The dream has not poisoned my thoughts of Kartik, rather it has strengthened my appreciation of him. I shimmy close to him, leaning into the warmth of his side. After a brief rearrangement of limbs, I am in his embrace, and he is in mine. His fingertips brush up the length of my arm, sending little shivers that erupt into gooseflesh on my skin. I bury my face into the hollow of his neck and the deep spicy scent of his skin makes me forget what blood smells like.

That's it… He can make me forget. Though we are surrounded by death and gunpowder, all we must do is close our eyes, seek safety in each other's embrace. This is not like my dream at all. Death and blood are not a part of us. They never were. We may have once been bound by misfortune, but now our future is what keeps us together.

"Gemma, we must go," Kartik whispers into my hair.

"But where?" My lips graze his neck as I speak and he shivers slightly.

"You will go home. I will find somewhere else to stay."

"No," I protest, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye.

He is shaken. "What?"

I pull him close again, smoothing my hands over his tense shoulders and back. "I dreamt that I had lost you, Kartik. I don't want to face that again."

"But we cannot stay together." His voice is so faint, phrased almost as a question. When I make no efforts to respond, he speaks again, more loudly this time. "What made you feel this way?"

Resting my cheek against his collarbone, I rub his upper arm, feeling the heat and hardness of his nice lean muscles. I can never again wish to be in another man's arms. Kartik's suit me just fine. Kartik, _my _Kartik. The one who makes me want to ruin embroidery and be rude to my grandmother, if only to have a story to tell him. The one who makes me laugh so that I must resist the urge to ask him to loosen my corset so that I may laugh harder. The one who makes me think lustful thoughts and makes me want to sin without guilt.

"I realized just how much I care for you." His arms flex around me. "Kartik," I murmur, turning my face towards his. I see his perfect lips, parted just so… They form words I almost miss in my desire-clouded reverie.

He dips his head to mine. "You know what you must do."

"Mmm?"

Kartik pulls me to him tightly (carefully minding my wounded side) so that our bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. "Trip and knock the Queen over," he whispers huskily into my ear.

"Such treason never sounded so…tempting," I say, kissing his neck.

"Tempting indeed." He guides my face to his and kisses me deeply. I nearly forget the presence of a dead man in the room. The thought sobers me considerably.

"Kartik?"

"Yes?"

"You would never call me _poppet_, would you?"

He frowns. "Why on earth would I call you that?

"I was just making sure," I say, making to kiss him again.

Kartik won't give it up. "It's a stupid name, really."

"Yes," I agree. I tilt my head upwards to kiss him.

"Reminds me of those silly little toys one sees in shops."

"Kartik!" I exclaim, frustrated.

His eyebrows arch in surprise. "Yes?"

"Just kiss me."

And he does.

**So this wasn't really creepy. I don't really think I can end a fic on a bad note. I hope it was a satisfying ending though, and not too different from the other chapters. And since it's already M-rated because of one chapter, if enough people beg me, maybe I'll write a nice little -ahem- chapter, as an epilogue.**

**But you have to want it!**

**Oh yeah, a good song to listen to while reading this is Monsters by Matchbook Romance. Just saying.**

**La di da,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW LOTS! **


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, this chapter is definitely M. But not disgustingly so. Thank you for all the support and reviews, but unfortunately, this story must come to a close. Enjoy!

"How does it feel to be a free woman?"

The question is not an easy one. "Odd," I say after a moment's hesitation. "But no one knows that I'm free yet."

That is the truth. I've run away.

Kartik unlaces his boots and slips his long feet from them. "I know that you are free."

"I did not knock over the Queen."

"No," Kartik's eyes drift lazily to mine. "But you are wanted all the same," he whispers huskily. I do not know how to react to this, but I don't even have time to think about it. Kartik reaches out and takes me by the hand, pulling me softly to where he sits on the edge of the bed. I stand between his parted knees, curling my fingers into his hair involuntarily, but loving every second of it. "You are not a sinner, Gemma," he murmurs into the flesh of my upper arm.

"Not _yet,_" I whisper, surprising myself.

In the light of the single lit lamp in our rented room at the Langham Hotel, Kartik's eyes seem to darken with the presence of sweet lust, the likes of which have always awakened the same desire in me. Today is no different. I sink into him, into his embrace and his kiss, years of memorized poetry running through my mind. Sonnets of sweet love and rosy lips and cheeks, flowers and deflowering…

"Gemma," Kartik says breathlessly. "I am a murderer."

I place my finger to his lips. "Shh," I whisper. "And I am a disgrace."

"You are not."

"And neither are you."

"But-,"

My fingers trace invisible stitches over his lips. He smiles despite them. "By this time tomorrow, we both will be dead to London."

He considers this. "Then shall we enjoy one night as criminals?" His hands linger at the back of my debutante gown, toying with the pearl buttons so that a few come free.

I shrug. "Tonight _is _my coming-out."

Kartik wheels me around. "Then let's get you out." A ghost of a smile graces my lips as he unbuttons my gown. It falls to the floor in a pile of silk and satin and Chantilly lace. I kick it towards the fireplace, unworried of the soot that streaks the expensive fabrics. Kartik places his heated lips on the curve of my neck. "Let me open this bird's cage."

"Oh!" I am spun around again to face him, but he has held tight to my corset strings so that they pulled free as I moved. "Have you done this before?" I unbutton his shirt and kiss his throat.

"No," he says, loosening my corset further. "For once things are happening as I want them to."

I trail my fingers down his taut chest and stomach, and then back up to his shoulders. His mouth finds mine, as does his tongue. "You taste so sweet," he mumbles into my mouth. _So do you,_ I want to say, for we both taste of the chocolates we fed each other earlier. Instead of speaking, I slip my hands under his shirt and push it off his shoulders and down his arms. Kartik takes that as an invitation to pull loose the ribbons at the neckline of my chemise and tug it gently over my head.

I gasp slightly as he pulls me to him, smoothing his hands over my bare back. The sensation of his naked chest against my breasts is strange, almost too delicious to bear. Our hands and mouths move slowly, deliberately, yet I cannot make sense of their movements. His tongue drifts languidly across the delicate spot behind my ear and I shiver, pulling myself closer into his warmth, where I meet the firm pressure of his desire.

"Oh Kartik," I whisper, pressing my hips into his. His eyes peer at me through the fringed awning of his thick lashes. Ever so slowly, his hands trail over my collarbones, grip softly the swells of my breasts, thumbs stroking, fingers pulsing, hearts pounding. I cannot wait for his hands to finish their journey; I swiftly pull the drawstring of my bloomers so that they fall from my hips to my feet, like I have done night after night for most of my life.

Kartik gazes at my form appreciatively while I reach up and pull the pins and flowers from my hair. Coppery curls drip onto my pale skin, falling in cascades to my mid-back. He is momentarily stunned, motionless, unblinking. I cup his face and kiss him slowly, stroking his tongue with mine as if my own was a poker rousing a fire from dying coals.

"Gemma…"

"Shh…" I pull away and steal to the bed, where I arrange myself against the silken pillows, willing my heart to slow down its thunderous stampede. He watches in a daze, and I shake my head at him in ridicule. I suppose he really _hasn't _done this before. He is just as nervous as I. This knowledge emboldens me. I curl a finger saucily, beckoning him closer.

I resist the strong urge to avert my eyes as he pulls his belt away and unbuttons his trousers. The rest of his modesty falls to the floor as the promise of what is to come springs forth. It is indeed a night for freedom.

Standing nervously before me like a sinner at an altar, Kartik's eyes hold mine in desperation, but I cannot help but look at him, perfect in all his various imperfections, like the jagged scar that streaks across his chest like a lightning bolt. "Kartik, you're so…" My eyes trail down and widen at the sight of him, intimidating and slightly frightful to me. "Oh…" My eyelids flutter, suddenly heavy with the desire to take him in my hands, my mouth, my very _self_.

Kartik bites his lip sheepishly. I've never known him to be so shy. Then again, I've never known myself to be so…bold.

"Wow," I murmur, still absorbing the shock of seeing him in all his nakedness. This seems to reassure him some, and he joins me on the bed. And…I let go of all my doubts, thoughts, inhibitions. I take him into my hands and stroke him; he moans. He slips his long fingers into my very core; I cry out in surprise, then laugh at his stricken expression.

It is not as terrifying as I thought.

We kiss and lick, and stroke and bite for a while, perhaps hours, perhaps only minutes. Time moves on its own accord here.

"Are you enjoying your freedom?" Kartik asks, raising his mouth from the crook of my elbow, a place he has been kissing for the past few minutes.

I pretend to think it over. "Perhaps," I tease, smoothing my legs together. He glances down at them and then grins wickedly.

"Perhaps a little tipping the velvet might make up your mind?"

I frown, trying to decipher what he means. My mouth drops open as it dawns on me, the term I once came across in an pornographic book my friends and I once perused, giggling at the pictures and reciting the inappropriate dialogue. Kartik smirks and dips his head low so that I can feel his hot breath on my maidenhood.

The image of his face is burnt into my mind, taunting and teasing, as my heads rolls back. I gasp at the strange sensation he creates as his tongue slips into me. My legs instinctively try to close, block him out, but Kartik will not have it. His hands grip my thighs, his lips curve into a smile, he laughs. The vibration rouses a moan from me; I try to keep it in with my fingers at my lips, but I fail.

I stretch my arms over my head, grasping at the pillows I cannot quite reach. I catch sight of my hands, see the scar under my wrist I've had since I was five. I cannot believe I was once so young, so innocent. Have I really come that far? Grown up that much?

Pressure grows within me, hot and insistent, at the mercy of Kartik's swift tongue. I cry out, begging for more, and he stops, wipes his mouth, crawls on top of me, kisses me. His mouth tastes slightly salty, but I do not care where it's been. I pull him to me and wrap my arms around his neck, but still he doesn't not quite come to me; he is teasing.

"Kartik," I groan. "Please!"

"Are you certain?"

I give him my most desperate look and strain up to meet his weight. "O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die," I recite passionately. "Please, Kartik." I flash him a mischievous grin. "Stab me, you murderer."

He chuckles softly, a sound which resounds throughout my entire body, raising gooseflesh in anticipation of his touch. "If I did, would that make me a necrophiliac?"

I bite his lower lip, committing myself to the dark humor I've come to enjoy after our bizarre encounter with Fowlson that day. "Yes. Now come; sinners need not hesitate."

Kartik thrusts into me without another moment of waiting. I yelp in pain even though I was expecting it. Even in our role-play, Kartik is concerned. "Don't," I say when he starts to pull out. "I want you right where you are."

He lets his head fall against mine, eyes closed tight. "Feels so good…" he moans, kissing me slowly. I spread my fingers through his thick hair and slowly rock my hips against him. The pain dulls by degrees.

"It does," I agree after a few moments.

Our movements begin slowly, awkwardly, as uncoordinated as my peers and I when we first learned the quadrille. _Stop thinking so much!_ We roll over and over, finding what's comfortable, what's thrilling to us both. Kartik's face is screwed in intense concentration; I wonder what he is thinking, if he is playing out the scenario he's pictured for many months as I am. But this is better, this is _real_; I know it by the burning sensation that rips its way through me, followed timidly by something deeper, more delicious, a pleasure I have never felt and have only touched briefly in dreams.

Kartik's hand brushes up my side, squeezes my breast and pulls me closer. I shudder as the five pads of his fingers trail south again to my thigh. He grips it and pulls my leg around him, rocking into me like a vessel on a stormy sea. I open my eyes and the sight of his broad chest welcomes me. The scar is there, the forked lightning, surrounded by beads of sweat that look like tiny raindrops. I kiss the hollow of his throat, licking his salty skin, unable to close my eyes to the metal imagery of a ship being tossed around by vicious waves as nature takes its course.

As nature takes its course…

Something is building between us, something long-awaited and very much welcome. Kartik senses it too, and brings me even closer, slipping his hand to finish the job his tongue began earlier. Sensations gather and undulate, growing to the point where I cannot possibly take it anymore. I throw my head from side to side in desperate want of a release.

"Kartik…"

Saying his name is what does the trick. My muscles seize before I am pushed free from my own body's constraints. I am high, above everything I've ever experienced, floating on the pulsating gratification my body radiates. _Stay_, it seems to say to Kartik as my muscles contract around him. _Stay with me._

And he does, through his own release. I watch him, sated, as his lips send forth beautiful sounds, an ancient angel's prayers of thankfulness, gratitude for this sin. Kartik collapses, breathing heavily and trembling from the exertion. We lay together, gasping and trying to make heads of what we just did.

"Gemma," Kartik says suddenly. "You're bleeding."

_I am?_

"What?" I ask, panicked. "Where?"

He lightly touches my side, where blood seeps out of my half-healed bullet wound, newly split open again. After seeing it, I finally feel it, throbbing with pain as Kartik tries to stop the blood flow. But it is too much. He cannot.

"Kartik!" I cry weakly, for my head is ringing and my vision is faint. He is frantic, upset, tearstained…

"Gemma! Please don't! Stay with me!"

_Stay with me._

"No Kartik," I whisper. "Stay with _me._"

My life slips away dangerously fast. Kartik's face swims close beyond my glassy tear-filled eyes. I hear the _click_ of his stolen gun. _By this time tomorrow, we both will be dead to London._

And I know that he will stay with me.

YES! I ended it with no happy ending! Well, one can argue that they ARE together now in death. In the realms. Gemma was dying and Kartik killed himself. Oh silly Romeo and your happy dagger...

PLEASE do not hate me for the dying part! They are happy now, in the realms. Bah!

I pity the maid that knocks on their door for housekeeping,  
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW! Tell me ALL of your thoughts! And my sex scene...did I do it justice? I can't write real smut, so I don't consider this smutty. But yes, review and let me know.


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